Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death

"The truth? Ah, my friend, truth is like a coin—it has two sides, and which one you see depends on how the light catches it. But let me tell you what I know."

He leaned forward, hands spread like a master weaver spinning threads of gold.

"The Dark Continent is not just sand and ruin. It is a land of fire-veined mountains, of rivers so deep they swallow the Shams, of jungles thick with roots older than empires. It's a land of gold and blood, of fortune and folly. You can find everything there—if you know where to look. But still... I can't deny it. Most? They only find their graves."

Malik arched a brow.

"That so?"

Ali Baba grinned.

"Oh, indeed. I was but a boy when I left, no more than seventeen, yet already wise enough to know the sands of home held no future for me. It was a dog-eat-dog world there, more so than here, and I'm not much of a fighter... To make matters worse, the Maharaja hoarded wealth like dragons, the warlords carved kingdoms with steel, and the common folk? They struggled beneath it all. And I... I had not the ambition to fight against it."

He shrugged, voice smooth as silk, despite all his talking.

"So I left. Boarded a ship meant for wealthier men, stowed away in a barrel of figs."

Layla snorted.

"Got caught within a day."

Ali Baba raised a finger.

"Ah, but I talked my way out of being thrown overboard."

He smiled, purple eyes twinkling.

"A merchant must always have a tongue sharper than his blade. The captain was no fool—he knew the worth of a good storyteller, and I? I knew the worth of information."

Malik nodded.

"So you bartered for your life."

"And thrived! By the time we reached the eastern ports, I had traded words for coin, coin for favors, and favors for freedom."

He sighed, shaking his head.

"Ah, the beauty of the market! One coin buys another, which buys another, and soon—you have a fortune."

Malik watched him carefully.

"And this caravan? How did that come about?"

Layla, who had been mostly silent, suddenly leaned forward.

"Yes, baba, do tell."

Ali Baba's grin widened.

"A tale of cunning, danger, and fate!"

He placed a hand on his chest dramatically.

"It was in the city of Al'Sharim. I was but a humble trader, carrying sacks of saffron and silks when I heard a rumor—of a vault, deep within the Shah's palace, filled with gems that sparkled like the stars."

Malik narrowed his eyes.

"A governor's vault? So you stole your way into this."

Ali Baba chuckled.

"Ah, but I never steal with my hands—only my words."

Layla groaned.

"This is where he starts exaggerating."

"Exaggeration?"

Ali Baba gasped, clutching his chest.

"My dear night, I am but a humble man sharing my experiences!"

Malik scoffed. Your next chapter awaits on My Virtual Library Empire

"Right. And how exactly did you talk your way into a vault?"

Ali Baba leaned in, voice dropping to a near whisper.

"I posed as a royal gem inspector."

Malik blinked.

"You're joking."

"On my mother's grave, I am not."

Ali Baba smiled, pure satisfaction in his expression.

"The Shah was a fool, easily impressed by long words and silk robes. I walked through the doors with confidence, and confidence, my friend, is worth more than any key."

"And no one questioned it?"

"Oh, plenty did."

He shrugged.

"But by the time they had doubts, I had already walked out with enough coin to start my first business."

Layla rolled her eyes.

"And that's why Baba thinks he can talk his way out of anything."

Ali Baba pointed at her.

"Because I can."

Malik crossed his arms.

"So that's how you founded One Thousand Nights?"

"Ah, well, that is a story I do not simply give away."

"You owe me a story. Fifteen silver, remember?"

Ali Baba flinched and Layla laughed out loud.

Staring at his betraying daughter, the merchant let out a long, suffering sigh, rubbing his forehead like he had just been robbed.

"Ah, you wound me, Malik. Truly."

"You wounded yourself."

"Fine, fine. You want the meaning of One Thousand Nights? You shall have it."

He leaned back, eyes briefly distant.

"A thousand stories, a thousand trades, a thousand deals that shaped us. Every merchant in our company has a tale to tell. A struggle, a journey, an ambition. It is our way—to pass down wisdom, coin, and legacy. We are the sum of a thousand nights spent making our way in this world."

Malik stared at him, quiet for a moment.

"...You really do like your dramatics."

Ali Baba grinned.

"A good story is worth more than gold."

Malik shook his head.

"I doubt that... any beggar would disagree."

Ali Baba smirked.

"Then you have never truly been poor."

Memories of all those years on the street flashed through his mind, and slowly, he nodded.

"Maybe not."

"And you?"

Ali Baba turned the conversation around.

"You speak like a man who has seen things."

Malik gave the safest answer possible:

"I was a nobody. Now, I'm a Magi. After I'm done with the pilgrimage, I might explore a little... find a place I can call home. At least for a little while. Then... well, I'll fulfill my goal."

Ali Baba hummed, clearly waiting for more, his goal perhaps. Malik didn't give any.

Then, without any prompting, he proclaimed:

"Me? Ah, well I seek profit, adventure, and, most importantly—" he flicked a finger, and Layla's silver coin vanished from her grip, appearing in his own, spinning effortlessly across his knuckles—"entertainment."

Layla's eyes flashed, her hand darting for it, but Ali Baba flipped it back to her with a smirk.

"A merchant without amusement is just a Goldsmith, and where's the joy in that?"

Malik shook his head, exhaling.

"You talk too much."

"And you listen too little."

Ali Baba shot back, grinning.

"But don't worry, my friend. By the end of this journey, you'll see—some things are worth more than coin. And when that moment comes... you'll remember my words."

Layla snorted.

"What, the sound of you rambling? Hard to forget, I admit."

Ali Baba laughed, stretching out comfortably.

"Ah, but a merchant's words are like a spell, my dear night. You think you've dismissed them... until one day, you find them circling back to you."

Malik watched him, quiet, thoughtful.

There were truths to his words, ones that allowed him to survive, courtesy of his "old man."

Remembering him made Malik feel somber and the conversation would've ended there if not for Layla. She had been oddly quiet, sneaking glances at him like she wanted to say something but couldn't quite bring herself to.

An act that Malik had noticed, which prompted him to ask:

"You got something to say?"

She flinched.

"Uh—um… Do you…"

She hesitated, then finally spit it out.

"Do you have a wife?"

"...No."

"Oh."

She nodded, looking relieved.

"But…"

Before he even knew why, he continued:

"I did have someone who wanted to be my wife."

Layla's head snapped up.

"W-Who?!"

Malik stared at her.

Then, for the first time in a long while, he saw them.

Sinbad and Jasmine sitting next to Layla, staring at him, waiting for an answer.

That twisting, sinking weight in his gut returned, those memories clawing at his mind.

He shook his head, attempting to dispel the illusion but failing.

Letting out a sigh, he closed his eyes and—

"Stop moving! We camp here tonight!"

Before he could answer, Ali Baba saved him.

Malik let out a breath and gave Ali Baba the tiniest nod of thanks.

The older man patted his back.

"Come with me."

Under the confused gaze of Layla, they hopped off the carriage and walked a short distance away from the caravan.

The night was settling in, stars blinking to life above them.

After reaching a far enough point where no one would be able to hear them, Ali Baba stopped and leaned against a tree.

"I'm a Trumpeter of Death."

Malik just looked at him. Blankly.

Ali Baba raised an eyebrow.

"That means I can see souls. It has conditions, of course, one being that you need to have less Aether than me and that you're not a Jinn or higher."

Malik's mouth opened slightly, then closed.

Only now did he understand what Ali Baba was getting at.

"You understand, yes?"

His voice was calm, but his gaze was sharp.

Malik nodded slowly.

"So?"

"So…"

Ali Baba exhaled.

"You're being corrupted."

"….....Okay."

He frowned.

"You don't seem surprised."

Malik shrugged.

"Figured something was wrong. What's new?"

The merchant sighed, rubbing his temples.

"Listen carefully. The only reason you're still fine is because there's something—a pink speck—fighting back against it. And you've got a weird resistance for it... But neither will last forever."

Malik said nothing. He just stared at the ground, absorbing the information.

Ali Baba straightened up.

"I'm telling you this because my daughter is interested in you."

Malik's eyes flicked back to him.

"And you shouldn't get involved."

"...I understand. And don't worry. I won't hold anything against you for this. You're doing your job as a father."

Ali Baba lowered his head.

"Thank you."

Malik held his shoulder.

"Please, don't... But in exchange, humor me a little."

He looked back up.

"Ask."

"I do notice that the... mom isn't around. Unless there's been a new method of having children is it safe to assume that she..."

"Yes."

"...I see."

Ali Baba looked weirdly at Malik.

"That's it? No sorry about that or something?"

Malik turned away, gaze landing on the sky.

"No... but may she rest in peace."